


Trickster's Treats

by littlemisskiara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A LOT of foodplay, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Dominant Castiel, Dominant Dean, Dominant Kali, Happy Ending, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt/Comfort, I really like happy endings, I swear there's a happy ending, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Rating May Change, Rope Bondage, Sub Dean, Sub Gabriel, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, everyone's human surprise surprise, foodplay, gabriel is a compulsive overeater, he's also a binge eater, mentions of anorexia, the inias/samandriel is background and so is the jess/sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisskiara/pseuds/littlemisskiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel has just moved to Lawrence, Kansas where he's opened The Cucina; a quaint line-up of restaurant, café, and culinary school that catches the eye of Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak, turning his life - well, a little sideways. </p><p>(this summary SUCKS)</p><p>*Abandoned*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Sprinkle

Custard isn't Gabriel's strongsuit but he _knows_ he's more adept at making it than little Hael. As evidenced by the now dripping ceiling and splattered countertops. The kitchenary is frozen in shock, all five inhabitants stuck in that half-way place between standing and jumping, breaths held and eyes pinched. Well, Gabriel's at least. Lest he open them and be blinded by strawberry mousse.

Flour, eggs, the blender, all litter the floor and paint their clothes, the last listed whirring around like a bee trapped in a jar, the only sound as –

_– 1 candydrop, 2 lemon square, 3 apple fritter, 4 honey glitter, 5 beignet –_

– Gabriel counts in order to. Calm. Down.

Not like he's never made a worse mess.

'Cause believe you me, he has. Many many times.

The stillness is broken suddenly when Inias kneels directly into the mess, swimming for the still twittering blender, and presses OFF. Then – blissful silence.

– _6 tootsie rolls, 7 creamsicles, 8 chocolate bars, 9 lollypops, 10 spoons full of sugar._

“Sorry, Bossman.” Hael murmurs finally, eyes still comically wide – though the short man can't see that.

“No worries.” Gabriel replies robotically, the movement of his lips dislodging a glob of custard that then succinctly _plops!_ to the floor. “Just have it cleaned by opening tonight, alright. I, uh, I gotta go shower.” He excuses, walking slowly – carefully! – through the treacherous slick till he reaches the swinging double doors. Before he can push passed though a piece of cloth is pushed into his hands.

 _A towel. Smart thinking, whoever you are._ He thinks as he wipes his eyes clean, finding Balthazar when he does.

“What a splendid performance,” The Brit sarcasms.

“Lick a lolly,” The dessert drenched male replies with a grin, quickly returned before he's gone and out the door, heading for home and a nice hot shower.

_Hester can handle everything while I'm gone._

The Cucina is only a few weeks old (2 months, to be almost-exact) but already there are regulars, a steady stream of customers that Gabriel was _not_ expecting. But of course, that's the plus of having four in-school employees whose friends have money and sweet-teeth and you provide free wi-fi.

All adding up to equal study-groups galore.

Starbucks doesn't have the monopoly on that _j u s t_ yet.

As the short brunet meanders homeward he goes through the week's “Specials List” in his head, eyes watching his feet and not his surroundings, sound blocked out as his thoughts run – recipes and ingredients and time management techniques, hot showers and clean clothes and a warm bed – so it's a complete surprise when he _smacks!_ – and when I say _smack!_ I mean the wet sound of bad kissing that makes one cringe in disgust – into an apple-cinnamon-pastry scented _god_.

This collision, of course, causes the complete globbering of the small man onto the tall stranger.

Stuck with custard, destroying the guy's AC/DC tee. They're plastered – quite literally – together, staring at each other wide-eyed until a mammoth-of-a-man succeeds in peeling them apart.

Mortified.

No excuse.

 _F u d g e_.

 

~ Please, Pause for Suspense ~

 

 


	2. Two Sprinkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is also probably shit

_1 creampuff, 2 chocolate turtles, 3 hi-chew, 4 airheads, 5 gummibears –_

Gabriel takes a deep deep _deep_ breath.

“I. Am. So. Sorry.” He says, each word a blow to the gut, twisting and turning as the guy's mouth falls, grimacing as he shakes his arms once, _twice_ , succeeding in the dislodgement of a few _plops!_ of icky yuck.

The drenched chef's entire face contorts in shame and horror.

“Frappéed- _fudge_ , I am so so sorry!” He wants to shout, but it comes out as more of a plea. “I'll make it up to you! A free meal at my restaurant or a week of free coffee at the café!”

“Uh, no offense, dude, but – ” The stranger slowly runs a finger through the custard substance before bringing it to his lips with the same deliberate slowness, like he's afraid of it, and giving it an experimental lick, his mouth souring instantly when the taste registers. “ – _this_ is disgusting.”

Gabriel laughs, _brays_ more like it, a small weight lifted that makes him suddenly giddy. “This is a  disaster from the culinary class I teach.”

The man raises a brow. “You have a restaurant, café, _and_ culinary class?”

“Yep!” The Bossman answers with a spring in his voice and an involuntary happy-hop, finally moving away from mortification and onto anticipation.

“So . . . do I have to choose between those options?” The man asks with a smirk, a glint in his eye to which Gabriel rolls his own, returning the look back two-fold.

“Café _or_ restaurant.”

Apple-cinnamon-pastry-god purses his lips – _mmh, pink like cotton-candy._ Gabe licks his lips at the thought of licking cottoncandy sugar off those lips – in thought.

“What're your specialties?”

Interest peaked, Gabriel straightens, ignoring the mess covering both of them for a moment and peripherally registering the . . . the . . . Moose!Man watching them from the sidelines.

“The café is a dessert café, my specialty is treats. _Any_ treats. But the restaurant's specialty is pasta – which comes in more recipes than I'd care to elaborate on, actually, and which I don't particularly care about.” The men snort at his blatant disdain for the non-dessert aspect of his business.

“ _Any treats_ , including custards?”

“They are not my favorite, so they are not a specialty.” Gabriel answers in a blasé tone, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally.

The emerald-eyed stranger purses his lips amusedly for a second.

Then, “Good.” He replies with a full-on, victorious smirk.

Gabriel narrows his eyes. “Why is that good?”

“'Cause. I'd feel threatened if it were burgers and fries.”

Gabriel couldn't have been more confused had you told him mermaids were real and delivered him irrefutable proof.

_Threatened?_ “What?”

The confusing stranger's smile is  _blinding_ . “I'm Dean, Dean Winchester. Head Chef at The Roadhouse.” He – Dean – says, holding out his hand in greeting.

_The Roadhouse . . ._ Oh.  _The Burger Joint and Bar down the road._

“I'm Gabriel Archangelos, owner and Head of The Cucina Complex.” Gabriel answers as he accepts Dean's hand.

“Archangelos?” The mammoth!moose!man blurts, eyes mirthful and lips split in a grin, to which Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Blame my parents.” The green-eyed god looks confused, pulling an annoyed frown from his floppy haired companion.

“Come _on_ , Dean. Gabriel. Archangelos.” He pauses, looking at the god expectantly, but Dean just fixes him with a glare and a gesture that clearly states _get to the point before I punch you_ and the too-tall man grunts. “The Archangel Gabriel.”

“One in the same, boys.” The angel smirks, winking at the gorgeous duo before taking a particularly appreciative look up and down Dean's body while the man is preoccupied glaring daggers at his comrade. A quick introduction of the godly Dean's companion is attempted, but when Gabriel lifts his hand to shake the moose's his shirt _crisps_ and _sticks_ and _oh gods no gross_. “This may be rude, and not that I wouldn't enjoy to stay and chat more,” _Which believe me I would_ love _. Unf, look at you, cheesecake-on-a-stick, yum._ “But this,” he gestures to the yuck still coating his body, “is starting to congeal and crust. And I need it off of me pronto.”

The new-acquiantances take one look, Dean then proceeding to look down at himself and scowl, before looking up at him with sympathetic, _we understand_ expressions on their faces.

Gabriel smiles at the disgust and concurrment evident in Dean's face and says “Well, then, I'll see you at the Café sometime,” before continuing reluctantly on his quest for cleanliness.

 

~ Pace Yourself ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does the very end of this suck? it does.


	3. Three Sprinkles

The shower would've meant everything to Gabe that day if it hadn't of been for the majestic beasts he'd bumped into. Not only was Dean a dessert-scented- _god_ but upon closer inspection, his companion – whom he'd learned during the very brief and awkward custard-crusting introduction to be Dean's little ( _psshht, yeah right!_ ) brother Sammy; “It's Sam!” “Whatever, Samantha.” “Jerk.” “Bitch.” – was equally as gorgeous. Well, maybe not _equally_ , 'cause _c'mon_ , Dean's eyes were just . . . you know that shivery happiness you get when you eat something _so delicious_ you could just _die_ of ecstasy? _Those eyes_ sent a feeling _so similar_ through Gabriel that the longer he looked the more breathless he became. Having devoured what he believed to be every delicacy known to man, he'd thought he'd never experience that feeling anew ever again. 

Oh, how wrong he was.

As it stands, divesting himself of the muck Hael spewed upon him is the second best occurrence that day. 

The water is warm and soporific, lulling him into a zombie-state. 

Then, while indulging in the sweet warmth, a horrific realization dawns upon the 25 year old chef. Eyes shooting open, breath catching, hands stilling as they lather his chest. He can picture the devastation perfectly. The shame at his forgetfulness dampening his Dean-induced-happiness.

His box of pastries forgotten and left in the kitchen!

With _those_ coyote thieves!

Inias had the gall to steal a blintz last time. Incurring Gabriel's wrath. 

Grumbling, Gabriel turns the shower off and steps out.

If they were just any pastries he'd simply ask for major compensation, but those weren't just _any pastries_. They were all new recipes.

God-doughnut.

 

~ Breaker, Breaker ~

 

 

Grumbling about “they'd better not touch my fudging pastries” and “little sugar snaps” the entire way back to The Complex. Gabriel makes succeeds the journey without incident this time, a slight smidge of disappointment saltying his mood at the lack of candy-apple goodness.

_Focus, Archangelos._ He chastises himself, focusing again on the most important thing. _My pastries are in danger!_

Reaching the kitchenary he wraps around to the back door, bursting in with an “Ah ha!” that splits the air.

Alfie's alone in the kitchen and squeaks in shock, jumping and dropping the mop in his hands. It clatters to the floor as he holds his heart, staring at his boss like he wants to smite him.

_Poor, little angel._ Gabriel sympathizes, of all his employees little Samandriel Alfred (Alfie) Felton would be the least likely to touch his delicacies. 

“Sorry, Gumdrop.” Gabriel teases, a soft lull to his voice to convey the truth in his apology. 

Alfie sighs, glare softening as he picks his mop back up. “Balthy stole a cruller but the rest of your pastries are untouched and in the fridge.” The fact that Gabriel didn't even have to explain his reappearance speaks miracles to how well his employees know him by now. That thought has his lips twitching up in a smile but Alfie's words twitch them the other way, a battle ensuing that is eventually won by a pout.

_Balthazar. Oh, he'll pay._ Gabe's mind plots, mental hands twisting and turning in the ever-stereotypically-popular “evil genius has evil idea gesture” as he plods to the fridge where, lo and behold, Samandriel's reassurance holds true. The box of pastries sits primly on the middle shelf. Opening the box's hood he finds that yes, a cruller is missing. But that's the only kidnapped victim he can find. _Dead by now._ Gabriel mourns.

“Gabriel,” a chastizing, British, _soon-to-be-dead_ voice interrogates from the doorway. 

Gabriel looks up to the pastry thief with a glare. “ _Y O U,_ ” he spits, Balthazar rolling his eyes in response to the dessert-inflamed-hostility.

“You have an unhealthy relationship with your desserts. But that's irrelevant right now. What did _you_ do?”

“Me?!” Gabriel squeaks, indignant and still  _ righteously _ angry at his  maître d'.

“Yes,  _what did you do,_ ” He repeats. “More specifically, why is there a gorgeous man in the cafe saying that he's been  _gifted_ with a week of free coffee?”

Gabriel's heart  _leapt!_ in his chest. 

_Dean_ .


	4. Four Sprinkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. I was focusing on other things. (aka other stories) I'll have the next chapter up soon. and Cas will appear soon too. ;)

Gabriel practically _sprints_ to the café, entering through the kitchenina (Balthy would slap him if he knew Gabe called it that, him and his made-up Italian words could poke the  maître d's buttons to the point of murder) and peaking a glance eagerly through the swinging-door's window.

_Hot fudge on a stick!_

Boy did a shower do that dessert justice.

Dean was leaning back against the counter, glancing around the café interestedly if but a little distractedly aloof. Still, the male was a god of a human. No longer in his soiled tee, he's now donned in a dusky red and grey plaid that hides his figure only slightly; but – personally – Gabriel likes things being left to the imagination . . . up until the point where they're not and all his fantasies come true, that is. And, good gumdrops, the fantasies Dean could elicit may very well be illegal.

He'd already had a rather scrumptious one involving a can of Whipped Cream and a chaise lounge; and it'd only been a few hours!

_Slow down,_ he chastises himself, wiggling a bit to relieve his suddenly half-hard sucker.

_1 toblerone, 2 chocolate turtles, 3 gummy bears on Dean's nipples and navel . . . No! Stop that._

_1 gummy bear, 2 lollipops, 3 jujubes, 4 nerds, 5 mike and ikes, 6 hershey's kisses on the head of my leaking . . . . STOP!_

Gabriel bangs his head against the circular window frame, eyes shut tight as he yells down to his disobedient second head.

_ 1 hi-chew, 2 cakes, 3 kinder eggs, 4 chocolate bunnies, 5 pocky, 6 lindor truffles, 7 scoops of pistachio ice cream, 8 zaotang, 9 pez, 10 swedish fish. _

_ Yes! _ Gabriel gave himself a mental high-five.  _ Hah! Screw you brain! Neener-neener-neener! I managed to count to 10 without thinking about Dean's nipples . . . or his kisses . . . or even where I could wrap a  _ _crêpe and decorate it with chocolate sauce and raspberry_ _ preserve, top it off with a blanket of powdered sugar _ _and_ _ lick and feast on _ _every last morsel before I continue on to choke on his . . ._

_Fudge._

Sucking in an immense, _e x a g g e r a t e d_ breath, Gabriel accepts his fate and pushes open the double doors.

Sweet Ambrosia don't let him make another fool of himself.

 

 

~ Hold your horses, Sweet Potato ~

 

 

Dean had intended to wait till the weekend to check out the café in The Cucina Complex.

Really he had.

But after parting ways with his brother, reaching his home and finding it empty, sloshing off the disgusting layer of custard while – admittedly – thinking maybe a little too hard about the golden-eyed shortstack it'd come from, hand on his cock, breathing ragged as he leant against the cold-wet tile and allowed the shower to whisk away the evidence of his fantasies, he'd found himself with absolutely nothing to occupy his time. 

Fuck, why couldn't he have waited till he was in bed with a nice thick dildo to play with? But _nooooooo_ , he _had_ to get to the touching while still in the shower. 

And . . . _goddamnit_. He swore. _Cas wouldn't be home till Saturday_.

So he trudged to his room to get dressed and _no he did not change his shirt four times what are you talking about_ before swiping his keys and escaping the emptiness of his marriage-bed.

Three more days and Cas would be home and they'd rumple those marriage sheets, but until then, Dean wanted to get to know the Complex's rambunctious owner. 

As he turned Baby's key, her engine roaring into life, he mused whether he'd be able to get a candid photograph of Gabriel to send to Cas. He was almost certain the mere sight of the male would have his husband half-hard and growling with want in seconds.

A sudden hallucination of Cas towering over Gabriel, kissing him within an inch of his life, those gold eyes shut tight and thick cock bouncing as he thrust aimlessly against Cas' hips, straddling his lap and clutching at Cas' shoulders, digging half-moons into those sturdy muscles, overthrows all other thought and he swerves dangerously before banishing the image and forcing his mind back into focus.

_Fuck, chill out, Winchester. You can do this. You've got this._

_Just gonna go flirt with the hot chef and try to gauge his type._

Get to know him, ask him questions, you know; How old are you? Where are you from? Why'd you choose Lawrence? Would you be down for a threesome with my husband and I? You know, the usual.

Damn, he was gonna get slapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah . . . It was kind of intentional for Dean to sound like a cheater at first . . . He's _REALLY_ not. ;)


	5. Five Sprinkles

Gabriel, of course, very nearly – _nearly_ I tell you! – face plants behind the café counter. The window, being too high, and he being a bit too short, disallowed him to see the dolly sitting just beyond the swinging door. A dolly which the swinging door hits, knocks over, then finds it's way atangled in his feet.

The arch of his foot manages to wedge beneath a rung and he spills forward, hands airborne and a weak _ahhh!_ escaping his lips.

_Sugar! Sugar! Sugar!_

His airborne hands touch upon a hold and those fingers reflexively clench, effectively stopping his front from fully slamming against the cool tile floor. It doesn't, however, stop his forehead from hitting the counter cabinets, nor his body from twisting uncomfortably with the dolly still attached to his ankle, or from Samandriel snickering before his hand with undeniable _glee_ at his boss' misfortune.

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Gabriel prolongs the inevitable. He doesn't even bother to count this time, only waits till the ache and _thump thump_ of his pulse settles down. That's gotta be long enough. _Right?_

_ And who knows, maybe Dean is deaf and did not hear the gum-awful sound I let loose like a wounded animal. I can dream, can't I? _

When Gabriel looks up he's met with the mirthful, shining eyes and breathtakingly _amused_ smile of a one mister Dean Winchester.

 

 

~ Drop it like it's hot ~

 

 

If Dean thought his first meeting with Gabriel Archangelos was memorable than his second time seeing the little chef was even more so. Watching the man take a stumble _like that_? Fucking p r i c e l e s s.

When he'd arrived at _Dolce Dolci_ he'd entered hesitantly, having never been inside the undeniably sugar _coated_ dessert café. Approaching the counter he spies two workers, both blond, both male, both slender, both blue-eyed, both around six feet-tall, and both decidedly _not_ Gabriel.

“Hi,” Dean interrupts whatever banter the two workers were intwined in, they become professionals very quickly as they turn to him. 

“Welcome,” The younger of the two greets, returning to the register and giving this new costumer his full attention. “How can I help you?”

“Uhm,” Dean laughs, because he's about to tell about how he was sludged by a short little imp on his way home this afternoon. “I ran, _literally_ , into Mr. Archangelos a few hours ago. He was covered in this _disgusting_ muck that got _all over me_ and in apology for maybe-maybe-not ruining my shirt he gifted me a week of free coffees.” The staffer looks surprised and unsure at his words, and damn if he wasn't gunning for the trickster he'd be trying with the cutie right in front of him. Although, admittedly, he _really_ didn't want to go to jail.

And this kid, ALFIE his nametag reads, is jailbait _to the max_.

Cas would _kill him_. And it'd probably kill his chances with the hot chef, as well.

Alfie glances back at the other worker with a raised brow. In response, the man, BALTHAZAR his nametag reads, says “Wait one minute,” – British, sexy – before ducking through the swinging doors behind them.

Jailbait twitches an awkward grin, and Dean can see the icebreaker ideas flittering around in his head. He saves him the trouble by turning around with a smile, leaning his back against the counter nonchalantly.

Like that, he awaited the confirmation needed for Gabriel's promise to bear fruit. He hadn't expected a show with his desserts. A bit of dumb luck brought that about. When the phone rang briefly Alfie had to move the dolly that'd been sitting before the counter where the machine sat, however, when his hand touched the handle the ringing ended. With a frown the worker returned to his register, forgetting to move the dolly back and leaving it precariously in front of the doors.

It was only a matter of time before that precariousness led something to fall.

It just so happened to be a certain archangel . . . flailing through the air with the grace of a turkey.

 


	6. Six Sprinkles

Dean left _Dolce Dolci_ at around 7PM after conceding to the fact that he had no other legitimate reason to stay that didn't appear creep-tastic. Damnitt.

He'd spoken to Gabriel – once the man had finally emerged from behind the counter where he'd hid for a drawn-out period of time, probably waiting for the red-embarrassment in his face to dull and appear somewhat normal – and then had proceeded to order a coffee and sit in one of the armchairs with the copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ that lives in Baby's trunk.

Since sitting down he's reread it twice.

Three hours.

He shaves time off his speed every time he reads it. He'd been proud of that fact before, but today he wishes it still took him 4x longer so that he'd have a plausible reason to stay and continue to peak over the book binding at the hot angel gesturing excitedly and laughing raucously with Alfie behind the counter.

Fuck. 

At 7 o'clock he had to admit defeat for the day. A good day for reconnaissance, sure, and after so long watching the man – the way his eyes light up and how he smiles mischievously – Dean's even more sure he'd be a good fit with him and Cas. But he needs more.

A photo, for one. 

But there was no way to get one today. Not with such a slow crowd in and not with Gabriel preoccupied with other things. It was almost like the man was purposefully avoiding Dean's eyes. Dean couldn't blame him though, what with having made a fool of himself not once but twice in one day in front of him. Dean sniggerred behind _Five_ at the thought, before sighing and locating Baby's keys. Throwing his empty cup away, he sends a wave to the working men, which is returned with – what Dean hopes is – a _too_ _enthusiastic_ “Have a nice day!”, before stepping out into the dusky sunlight.

Now, _how_ was he going to snap that photo?

 

 

~ Take a picture, it'll last longer! ~

 

 

The second Dean exits, Gabriel melts to the floor with a relieved sigh, back against the cabinets as he bangs his head lightly upon them. Samandriel is standing over him, where he'd been while they were conversing, looking at the door with a smirk firmly in place. 

When he looks down he's got _that look_ that people get when _they know too much_! 

_Sugardrops!_

Gabriel groans, burying his head in his arms because _hot fudge_ Dean was _gorgeous_.

The man had been sitting in Gabriel's personally favorite armchair all night, and Gabriel could swear he could feel those apple eyes boring into him every now and then. More often than not now rather than then. But that was definitely wishful thinking.

Nun's farts those eyes could start a fucking fire.

Well, they sort of kind of did when Gabriel locked gazes with them briefly at one point, quickly turning away, cornering Alfie, and starting in on a completely random and unprompted story about when his brother tied him to a tree. Anything to ignore the sudden burning in his cheeks and warmth in his chest.

Even engaged in a conversation with the college-boy, Gabriel's mind was set on the god sitting in his throne.

Sweeties those eyes were green.

He wanted to bake a pie of green apples that waxed poetic about those eyes, graham-cracker crust the color of that gorgeous mop of hair, and vanilla ice cream sweet and creamy like his . . . _okay not now, little guy, go down. Please go down._ Gabriel thinks towards his unruly honey stick as he attempts to stay focused on whatever story he's relaying to Alfie. But god-doughnuts all he can think about is what that god's ambrosia nectar could possibly taste like and whether or not he'd be able to drink it all down.

So when Dean finally departs Gabriel is both mortified at his inner thoughts, relieved at his leaving, and utterly wanting to throw himself at the man, rip of his clothes and sink down on his licorice wand.

Looks like disappearing behind the counter like the wicked witch being doused with Dorothy's water is gonna have to do. 

_God help Alfie is he so much as breathes this to . . . well, anyone!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next 3 chapters almost done, my friend just has to read them over and I believe she's asleep. So they'll be posted tomorrow. :)


	7. Seven Sprinkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't remember if this was spellchecked, sorries. :)

Samandriel, of course, tells _everyone_. 

 

Samandriel: Mr. Bossman's got a crush.

 

Balthazar: *groans*

 

Hael: Ooooh!!! Who is it!?

 

Balthazar: It's the beau from earlier, isn't it?

 

Hester: Beau?

 

Samandriel: Gabe apparently ran into him while covered in Hael's disaster.

 

Hael: O – O

 

Inias: What stage is the infatuation in? Is there still time for us to be spared?

 

Hester: Don't you mean 'for _him_ to be spared'?

 

Samandriel: That's negative. This relationship, if it progresses that far, could work out. And then we'll all be forced to endure a whole lot of sexual tension. _That's_ what we need to be spared from.

 

Balthazar: Sexual tension doesn't bother me, little virgin.

 

Samandriel: Hey!

 

Inias: Leave my boyfriend alone, Balthy.

 

Balthazar: C'mon, little angel, couldn't we talk this over after a little ménage et troi?

 

Hael: Ew.

 

Hester: We're all angels, Balth . . .

 

Balthazar: And little Alfred is the littlest saint among us.

 

_Samandriel has left chat._

 

Inias: You're a dick.

 

Balthazar: When are you finally going to consummate your relationship?

 

Hester: This conversation is divulging into an unrelated topic and I'm not entirely comfortable with it. Balthazar, leave Samandriel alone.

 

Inias: He's not ready, let it be.

 

Inias: Now. Back to Gabriel and his crush.

 

Hael: You're not going to go see Samandriel?

 

Inias: He's curled up under the blanket on my bed. Now, again, returning to the original subject.

 

Hael: Gabriel + crush? 

 

Hester: We help, of course.

 

Balthazar: Of course.

 

Hael: Yeah, but _how_?

 

 

 


	8. Eight Sprinkles

Dean's plan was _perfect_.

That morning while texting Sammy he'd _carefully_ mentioned _Dolce Dolci_ , knowing full well that it was Sam and Jess' routine study-group day. Their little posse would try a new café or park every week to “spice up” their study-time. Explore a new place while learning about old things.

Dean snorts. Nerds.

The moose had clung to the idea, adding that he'd been wanting to check it out, to which Dean replied that their coffee was delicious and the staff friendly, plus their chairs were _the bomb_. 

Bait. _Caught_.

When 10 AM rolled around Dean was showered, dressed, and ready, leaving the house just after he knew his little brother and his peers would have reached their destination.

_Checkmate_. He thinks as he spies his brother's princess-long-locks. 

Walking inside, he'd made a beeline for the table littered with textbooks and notebooks and caffeine-infused drinks where six highly intelligent jackasses sit. The little shits had somehow even roped Dean's bestfriend Charlie into the group.

Kevin and Ash sit side-by-side, heads bent inward as they read over some text that is definitely not in English.

Ash and Charlie were already done with their rudimentary education, now each in graduate school _again_ – they'd graduated _a long time ago_ , fucking geniuses – and didn't actually have the need to study. The both of them could read something once and remember it for a lifetime.

But they enjoyed the socialization.

Charlie and Chuck weren't conversing, too involved in whatever the each of them were doing. The redhead completely engrossed in her computer and the brunet hypnotized by something on a novel page.

Sam and Jess were going between sappy-couple and devoted future money-makers. She had some medical text open, a medical-dictionary maybe, and a chart of human anatomy or someshit laid out beside it. Sam, well, Sam had a text of Kansas Law in his lap.

Oh, and did Dean mention? It's summer.

Home for summer only two weeks and they're already back to their old High School routine. This is a familiar occurrence and gives Dean a sense of peace. He'd struggled with Sam's leaving, going off to Stanford and having a life outside of Lawrence, but that was before Cas.

Wow, Sammy's already a third-year prospective law-student with a drop-dead gorgeous fiancée.

An older brother could be damn proud of that.

Reaching their table, he _lightly_ bangs the two translators' heads together. Tweedle K and Tweedle A sputter before the littlest turns to him with a scorching glare. Mullet man shakes his head, rubbing the side, before returning to their text, effectively ignoring the intruder.

His little attack garnered the others' attentions, though, and soon he's met with four exasperated pairs of eyes – not including the murderous Kev's or the ignoring Ash's. He slides into a seat beside Charlie and pulls his laptop from his messenger bag, knowing full well that he has orders in that need to be filled. So he opens the electronic machine and awaits its boot-up. While the light slowly comes on, from black to gray till it's eventually show a picture of Baby above where his password will go, he sees out of the corner of his eye a bob of short brown and gold behind the counter.

_Showtime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a mariachi band next door.
> 
> This isn't the first time this has happened.


	9. Nine Sprinkles

Castiel swears his cell has been beeping on a continuous loop the last hour. Unfortunately for Dean – and it is undoubtedly Dean because _who else_ would be texting and calling him so often _besides_ his husband? – he'll have to wait, he can't just interrupt a meeting to reply to a message.

As the brunet exits the meeting, another round of buzzing bulleting his thoughts, he rummages through his trouser pocket till his fingers catch on the glossy piece of hardware. Pulling it out he unlocks it with a swipe, opening his texts.

_Holy heck, Batman._

Cas halts, full-on stops in the middle of the hallway, his colleagues and compatriots moving around him like water 'round a boulder in the stream. The text contains a profile photo of a gorgeous, _golden_ , smiling . . . _elf_ along with the words:

 

_What do you think?_

 

Cas smiles lecherously, he can just imagine the eyebrow-wiggle that accompanied the text, realizing a bit delayedly that he's still in public and glancing around guiltily, but everyone has gone, so he lets the smile bloom as he returns to his phone.

 

_Acceptable._

 

_ He's more than that, Cas. And you know it. _

 

_ I'll give a full assessment when I am introduced, my love. _

 

_ Wait till you see his ass. You could bounce a quarter off it. Babe, we  _ neeeeed _him. Please?_

 

He can hear the whine, needy and stunning as Dean typed his plea. The sound sending shivers shooting up and down his spine in a melody of anticipation. 

 

_Mmmh, but the more important question is; can I bite it?_

 

_ It's like a candy mountain. _

 

_ I'll be home by morning. _

 

Cas takes a heavy, – only slightly – unsteady breath as he drops his phone back into his trousers. All meetings are finished with, all business dealt. He glances down at his watch:

 

THURSDAY, JUNE 19TH, 6:48PM

 

Nashville's not _too far_ from Lawrence. 

Yeah, he could _definitely_ make it home by morning.

 

 

~ Saddle up, looks like we've got ourselves a Bronco ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this story's actually gonna be a lot longer than i planned and not gonna be all happy-fun-time **all** the time like I originally planned . . . just a warning.


	10. Ten Sprinkles

_The fuck was that sound‽_ Dean's mind is suddenly alert and running, reaching for the bat always kept at the ready beside the bed the instant he's awoken by rustling, thumping, and . . . fake cursing? _Damnitt, babe._ The green-eyed man rolls them fondly, smirking as he sets the bat down and sneaks out of bed. Slipping through the ajar door, he reaches the hall in time to see his husband reaching to staircase landing.

And then promptly forgetting about the antique desk pushed primly against the wall a few feet down.

He slams into it with a hissed “dagnabbit” that has Dean trying to remember just _why_ he married the dork. As his husband attempts to steady the tittering urn adorning the desk, Dean clears his throat in a succulently sharp cough, flipping the bedroom lightswitch with pinpoint accuracy **to/in** sync, bathing himself in light and leaving the other in shadows. The dark form returning home in the middle of the night goes completely still. 

Turning his head very _very_ slowly, Cas turns a pair of blue doe-eyes onto his love.

Dean tries for a stern look but it ends up breaking into another amused smirk.

That smirk vanished, however, when those sky blues turned from innocent to lecherous in a millisecond. A sinful growl singing from those wind-chapped lips has Dean's breath catching. Near a week. That's how long it's been since they've been together. 

A _w e e k_. 

And damn the bed was getting cold.

Cas advances with a determination born of a week of blue-balls mixed with an addiction to his husband's body till finally he has the Winchester's back flush against the wall, hips together. Dean's eyes rake over the brunet's face till they land on those blush lips, shadowed between light and dark they seem even more lush than he remembers and he can't help licking his lips, biting the bottom as an afterthought, when he thinks of having them kissing every inch of him. 

He feels Cas's hands cradling his thighs, his husband's breath as he leans down to bite at the crook of his neck. Every touch and movement and breath sending signals of want through his brain and nervous system and _fuck_ if he wasn't hard as steel.

Then those ears are at his ear.

“Green?” He smiles, biting his lip again.

“Need.” He answers, eliciting another primal growl from his husband's chests.

“Drop 'em,” The dom orders, and Dean obeys gratefully, thumbs working into the elastic of his boxers before letting them drop with a flick of his wrists. He could swear his lover purrs. “Unzip mine.” Another simple flick of the button and downturn of the zip, before he's sliding his hand slowly under the same elastic beneath the slacks. Dean smiles, _so that's where those went._ Fucking theif his husband is, always stealing his clothes . . . not that he minds, seeing his love in his stuff always sends a satisfactory wave of possession through him. Delving his hand into the warm confines of fabric his fingers enwrap the glorious, pulsing cock he's been missing for days. Thick and engorged as he pulls it free, lips tender beneath his ear sending warmth everywhere, a fantasy of riding that length to kingdom come suddenly sending a breathless whine through his chest. His own cock heavy and leaking. “Let go.” Dean wants to whine at the loss as he reluctantly releases his hold on Cas' gorgeous member. 

Lowering his hands to the side as he was taught, he presses the palms to the wall, he breathes deep as he tries to _not_ be overwhelmed by everything he want _to do_ and _to be done_ to him.

“Good boy, so beautiful, Dean.” Dean preens at the praise, grinning shyly and gasping as another drop of precum trickles out. “Now, jump.” No time for hesitation, Dean jumps, trusting Cas to catch him. He does, holding him up by a grip at his under-thighs, hands traveling to his knees as Dean wraps his legs around the shorter man's hips.

Without so much as a breath of warning Cas suddenly has a hand wrapped around his cock, leaving his leg as he presses forward, using his body weight to aid in keeping up Dean. His hand doesn't just wrap round his own but there's a length of _oh-so-soft_ satiny skin, uncut and warm with arousal, flush against his own and it's fucking _heaven_.

Slicked up with a mix of their precum Cas languidly pulls at their cocks, long, pulled-out strokes that have Dean trembling with need. Cas' lips are on his neck, teeth kneeding the skin. The slow sensuality's driving Dean mad but he's made up his mind to let Cas have him however he wants tonight. And if slow and maddening's how then that's how it'll be.

The pressure in his gut intensifies, feels like he'll burst from all the sensations any second. Fingers curling against the wall, lip nearly bitten through, hot breath on his neck and precum dripping freely to slick his husband's way. With his other hand the blue-eyed beauty reaches up to cup Dean's ass, gripping the flesh and kneading slowly before pressing a finger just at his entrance. 

A whine escapes the green-eyed man and he can feel Cas' proud smile against his neck.

That finger doesn't enter, just swirls around the ring with featherlight weight that sends nerves haywire, the pressure and heat in his gut building till the pressure's like a damn about to burst.

Dean has tell-tale signs when he's on the edge, and Cas knows to look for every one of them.

Trembling thighs, twitching jaw muscle, whine, “please”.

“Cum for me,” he punctuates with a kiss to that jaw muscle. When Dean explodes Cas doesn't stop stroking, helping him through the silent orgasm before his own overtakes him. Dean's hands are on his shoulders now, massaging his shoulders lovingly, kissing the muscles and purring like a satisfied queen. Body lax and heavy, Cas carries him the little way to their bed, turning off the light as he goes, laying him down before stripping to his birthday suit and joining him; unconcerned about their drying cum, they'll clean it up in the morning.

When they're both curled up around each other under the blankets, sharing sleepy kisses and post-orgasmic bliss, Cas looks at Dean, that stare that was the first thing Dean saw. Want and lust heavy in their blue even in the darkness.

“What's his name?” Dean smiles, bright and airy.

“Gabriel.”

 

 

~ Wait! Hammer Time ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a few hours late, sorry adecutegirlz X)


	11. Eleven Sprinkles

“Gumballs, where is he . . .” Samandriel's boss mutters grumpily as he rests his chin on the counter, pout in full force. There's _no doubt_ who he's referring to. The green-eyed man, _Dean_ , hasn't come into the shop in two days. And Gabriel's expression clearly asks “ _Where is he?_ ” 

“Problem, Boss?” The teen asks with a smirk.

Gabriel mumbles something unintelligent, sinking behind the counter till he's bent forward, forehead resting on a shelf and ass on the floor.

The employee sighs, rolling his eyes in exasperation at his boss while at the same time cursing Dean for being nowhere in sight. The last thing any of them needs, most especially Gabriel, is another relationship – or rather a crush really, in this case – ending in disaster. They'd all heard the stories from Gabriel's teen years and let's not forget the very _very_ short-lived affair at the beginning of chef's living in Lawrence. 

Which, actually, now that Samandriel thought about it, was only short-lived for everyone _except_ Gabriel. I mean, he had _moved_ to Lawrence with _that guy_. Samandriel refused to even think his name.

And now Samandriel has to sigh again because, yeah, that had been a messy first week.

Alfie cannot help but glance back down at the – * cough * lovable * cough * – jerk hiding beside him. He'd grown on all of them like a fucking parasite in less than a day. Balthazar and Gabriel knew each other from school over in Europe and then Balthazar had moved here last Summer and Gabriel had followed this Spring. Before actually settling and everything, Gabe – through Balthazar – had acquired the lands and had the Complex set up; Balthazar basically being the boss and arranging and hiring and everything that needed done for months before Gabe arrived and he stepped down as second-in-command. When the little archangel had finally step foot into the Complex he'd been met with his long-time friend and an already acquainted staff. 

A week passed then before any of them – minus Balthazar – even knew Gabriel had a partner.

Said partner had taken one step into the kitchen, saw Gabriel surrounded by three young, handsome men and two gorgeous young women and had _f l i p p e d o u t_.

More specifically, had flipped out over the fact that Gabriel had been basically sandwiched between Samandriel and Hael and they were laughing as they decorated desserts together – said dessert being Gabe's face with a palm-full of frosting . . . Samandriel makes a note to ask Hael to stop drenching Gabriel in confectionary; frosting, custard, there'd been that incident with the cotton candy . . .

His partner had not liked their overt familiarity.

And he hadn't been shy in showing his distaste, either.

Never matter that Hael was like a little sister to all of them, or that Samandriel was in a _closed_ relationship with Inias – who'd gotten rightfully furious when the man had gotten into Alfie's space and yelled furiously at him, threatening tone and red-faced – in addition to looking at Gabe like an older brother.

He was gone by the next day. 

Balthazar dealing with the situation after the man had had the gall to slap Gabriel.

Truthfully, Samandriel had no idea what happened to the man.

Balthazar, Inias, and Hester had taken care of the situation.

Sending another glance at Gabriel. From what Samandriel saw of Dean the few times he'd been in, he seemed good for Gabe. Like _really_ good for him. Samandriel turns his eyes skyward then. _Where the hell is he?_

 

 

~ Don't stop believin! ~

 

 

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks as they climb into the impala. It was Sunday morning and Dean hardly ever got out of bed before noon on Sundays. 

But today Dean's grin is large and infectious, his entire body practically vibrating with excitement as he turns on Baby and she roars loud and long, accompanied by the bone-jarring volume of Metallica.

The first time Cas had been blasted by such a concert he'd flinched, a jump in his seat that had had Dean laughing so hard water had pricked his eyes. But after all these years it's second nature, and he always feels a little off being in a car _not_ equipped with Dean's unique . . . accents.

“D—e—a—n ,” Cas pulls out the name like a kitten's mewl, knowing full well the sound makes his husband take in a breath and shift as blood flows south. The brunet smirks when Dean shoots him a vile glare, shifting just as Castiel predicted and turning his smirk into a victorious toothy grin.

As they rush down the street, Dean taking the speed laws as more of guidelines, Cas realizes they're going towards The Roadhouse.

“Burgers for lunch?” Cas asks, a giddy feeling at the prospect of rich charbroiled beef with cheese, bacon, avocado, and all the other necessities.

Dean chuckles before taking a left where he shouldn't.

Cas furrows his brow as he looks at the street they're now on before turning a sharped brow at the blond, who _pointedly_ ignores the look and all-too-nonchalantly begins to hum a tune decidedly not Metallica, Cas can kind of discern it as a song from Frozen. Cas smiles because they'd watched that movie more than a week ago together and yet he'd found the case still on the coffee table this morning. Whatever Dean says, he loves Disney movies.

As Dean hums under the loud sound of _Phantom Lord_ booming from Baby's speakers Cas tunes ou t the metal to listen to Dean's soft notes, picking up on the song instantly.

 

_Say goodbye,_  
  
Say goodbye,  
  
To the pain of the past  
We don't have to feel it anymore  
Love is an open door!  
  


With an amused smile infused with what the blue-eyed man feels is every ounce of love he feels for Dean's quirky, adorable, hidden enjoyments and shake of the head later Cas finds that they're pulling into an unfamiliar parking lot in front of the new Cucina Complex that he'd been meaning to have them try out.

Cas' grin grows instantly at the realization. The expression, instead of infused with love, is lecherous and impatient and pure excitement because yeah, Dean had informed him of everything, bits and pieces here and there about the gorgeous dwarf of a man, information told in between round after round of vigorous coupling since he'd returned home Thursday night.

 

_Name:_ Gabriel

_ Occupation:  _ Owner and Head Chef of The Cucina Complex

_ Status:  _ Single

_ Pass/No Pass:  _ P A S S

 

This is so much better than The Roadhouse.


	12. Twelve Sprinkles

_Shit fuck no no no no no no no this can't be happening!_ Alfie's mind goes on rapid-fire panic as he sets eyes on Gabriel's crush, the green-eyed god walking in _holding hands_ with a blue-eyed god! 

F U C K.

From his pocketed phone he shoots off a frantic/frenzied/ hysteric mass text to _everyone in the know_.

 

Samandriel: **MAYDAY** FUCKING HOLY SHIT DEAN JUST WALKED IN _WITH ANOTHER MAN_ GABRIEL IS AT MY SIDE AND OH SHIT FUCK I'VE SEEN THAT LOOK ON HIS FACE GUYS _GUYS!_

 

Balthazar: Bloody hell. Fuck.

 

Balthazar's cogent reply is sufficient and too the point. The situation was well and truly fucked. Thankfully this time doesn't appear will end with any blood spills, but the look on Gabriel's face is enough to make Samandriel want to punch Dean and bloody that damn heavenly face.

 

Hael: I've got the ice cream!

 

Hester: I thought you all said it was going well! What about Thursday?!

 

Samandriel: They were all over each other on Thursday!

 

Inias: Alf's telling the truth. Dean was into Gabe without a doubt, flirting and checking him out and going out of his way to talk to him and get to know him.

 

Samandriel: Dean doesn't look ashamed or anything, fucking piece of shit, SHIT.

 

Hester: WATCH OVER GABRIEL

 

Like she has to tell him twice, Samandriel drops his phone and lets it fall again to the very depths of his pocket, ignoring the rest of the buzzes it rings out in favor of watching over Gabriel and glowing daggers at Dean and his _date_.

 

 

~ Don't get your panties in a bunch ~

 

 

_ 1 licorice whip, (breathe) 2 chocolate covered strawberries (come on, where is he?) 3 lemon squares . . . _

The bell above the door twinkles and Gabriel, candy-count trailing off, looks over at it hesitantly, not wanting to let himself believe it could be Dean but still hoping for the best.

This was farthest from the best that non-best could get.

No. No no _ . . . no nO NO!  _ Gabriel's fingers clench around the shelf they pinch, his gut plummetting. His stomach felt like it was going to fall out his buns. He couldn't breathe.

Counting candy was not going to help.

He wanted to run.

To count each step as he fled and let the slapping of his soles upon the floor and concrete and earth and whatever else drown out the heartbeat suddenly pulsing in his ears, his veins too thin and his blood too thick and his body wanting to sway but too locked tight to obey.

So he stayed down behind the counter, Samandriel warm by his side.

Samandriel putting a gentle hand in his hair and giving him a reassuring, encherished pet conveying all the love and understanding he could. Gabriel felt guilty then for wanting to shy away from his touch and instead let the earth gobble him up . . . but really what he wanted was to dive into the kitchen and drown in a tub of pistachio or pumpkin or strawberry ice cream.

The doughnut Alfie hands him is going to have to suffice. The skinny teen covertly prying him gently away from the shelf and turning him, lowering him down to sit on the floor with his back now against the counter. Still beside the patient employee. Now facing away from the patrons, incapable of seeing any of them and they incapable of seeing him. A fresh doughnut with maple and sprinkles in his hand that he devours only to be replaced by another.

And another. And another.


	13. Thirteen Sprinkles

Samandriel keeps an eye on Dean as he and his date find a quaint table towards the back, in a rose-lighted alcove cornered in by two puffy armrests. The sit for a moment talking closely, leaning in and sharing a tender kiss that has the worker's hackles rising. But when Dean finally walks up to the counter Samandriel plasters on a plastic smile worthy of Ken and greets him with the customary “How may I help you?”

“Hey, Alfie, is Gabriel in today?” He smiles, roguish and irresistible

Alfie looks up. _God, can I punch him, please?_

“I haven't seen him.”

Dean frowns at that, an honest to god sad-frown that has Samandriel's eyebrows broncoing up before he can lasso them back down. “That's too bad, I told him I'd come Friday but I got, uhm, tied up.” The way he says 'tied up' with a little embarrassed(?) cough has Samandriel's eyes trying to escape his restraint again. 

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Samandriel continues in the sweetest voice he can manage. Gabriel's tensed up on the floor beside him and the twinky blond can imagine the fearful doe-eyes of getting caught that are no doubt on the chocolatier's face as he stays still as possible, ensuing he doesn't get caught.

“Yeah,” Dean pauses in contemplation, disappointment wallowing around him in an aura before he looks back up from the counter where he'd been staring intently at a display. “Well if you see him, will you tell him Dean was looking for him? I've got someone I'd like him to meet.” Samandriel takes a deep, _calming_ breath to stop from telling the man to shove it.

He can feel Gabriel squirming at his side, interested, and he _gently_ kicks him with his foot.

A soft _oomphf!_ has Dean stalling, face contorting in confusion as he leans just a tad forward over the counter and with his height is able to catch sight of Gabriel's feet laid long on the floor. Alfie closing his eyes and bows his head as he releases that deep breath in defeat.

 

 

~ Uh uh, don't be hasty ~

 

 

When Dean catches sight of jeaned legs behind the counter he lands his hands palm down on the clean surface and hauls himself halfway over, head fully behind the counter and peering down at the same golden-eyed elf he'd come to the café in search. Said golden-boy is stares up at him with wide eyes.

Dean opens his mouth to say something before finding that he has nothing to say and closing it again. 

He has to think.

And think.

And think.

“What are you doing down there?” Is what he settles with, because, what else do – _can_ you say when you find someone hiding out on the flood behind the counter in a café?

Gabriel doesn't move for a long time, eyes glued to Dean's, before lifting a half-eaten-chocolate-old-fashioned-doughnut right in front of Dean's face. With a tilted smirk Dean leans the inch or so needed to ensnare the pastry in his teeth, biting off a piece and moaning loudly at its delicacy, then returning to finish off the circular dessert, still in Gabriel's hand, grip getting looser till the last piece is tittering on his finger's before being pulled into Dean's mouth by a flick of his tongue.

Dean is tempted to lick the rest of the sugary crumbs from Gabriel's in-air-frozen fingers but his mind reminds him that they have an audience and Dean instead gives the delicatessen a hooded smile before licking his lips in a long lingering taste.

A soft gasp below him has his smile brightening, eyes shining as he locks green again with gold. “I've got someone here I'd like you to meet.”


	14. Fourteen Sprinkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm a bad person and started ANOTHER story that I will start posting soon. School's in and my classes are not hard but I'm either at school or at work and even though it's not hectic it's all my time and I'm writing every second I get and I'll be updating sporadically. More so in the next few weeks cause my shifts are being cut for a while (we're having renovations at work). 
> 
> Everyone, please, be patient with me. :)

John. Jacob. Jingle. Heimer. Schmidt. 

Castiel was in a pickle.

Or, more like, his pickle was in a pickle.

Dean had gone over to the counter to ask the worker, whom he'd been informed name was Alfie, if the boss was in, leaving him with a tantalizing kiss that had the brunet pouting and wanting to feel those soft lips somewhere _a lot_ lower. If he could he'd have the blond on his knees and swallowing him down like candy right here in this establishment, making those incredible noises that are only a guarantee when pie is involved, giving the other patrons dinner and a show.

_Then_ his _t e a s e_ of a husband had to go and _lean over the counter_. Round globes of his tushie pulling tight the denim of his jeans and framing those sculpted muscles like they were a gift to the gods. Cas sighs when . . . Yep, _hello, boner, how nice of you to join us while we're out and about. Again._

The brunet shakes his head shortly, readjusting himself in his seat before returning his attention to his husband and his antics and decidedly ignoring his suddenly raging hard-on. And no, he's not remembering bending Dean over their kitchen counter and plowing the man so hard he'd blacked out, _nor_ is he imagining how amazing it would be to keep Dean bent over the shop counter and make-love to him nice and slow with one of the curlicue unicorn-horn lollipops for sale. No, the brunet defiantly _was not_ thinking about either of those scenarios.

Oh Good Lord in Heaven and all his Glory.

If Cas wasn't already diamond hard, he would have been then. Instead his far-too-interested-for-public-decency member twitched with a valiant jerk when he caught sight of _jiminy flippin' christmas_! 

_G a b r i e l._

The photo did not do him justice. And so help him, if they succeeded in wooing the golden-eyed beauty, Cas was determined to make good on making love to _somebody_ over that dang counter with the candied unicorn horns before eating his fill of the ambrosia that would then leak out, savoring the sounds of his partner before making sure that their cum too tastes sugary-sweet.

 

 

~ Lick it up, Baby. Lick. It. Up. ~

 

When Gabriel finally uncurls himself from behind the counter's back he rising gently, still unsure about Dean's meaning and his _friend_. 

_Pssht, that gorgeous piece of angel cake? No way are they not_ together _together._

And _who else_ could he want to introduce him to?

G r _e_ a t. A dose of humility is just what Gabriel had on the menu for today, how did you know? _Oh, right, because you're a frosted flapjack flippin' god of a man and you take pleasure in disturbing the lives of mortals, well how kind of you to find your next Echo in me, I'm flattered._

Standing erect now, Gabriel's turned to face Dean's cocky smile, standing beside Samandriel whose practically radiating fury. Any other place and Gabriel thinks the little blond would punch the green-eyed man. Now, though, Alfie's got his _I'm-a-good-boy-and-it's-literally-my-job-to-look-happy-and-look-I'm-doing-it-so-well-that-you-don't-realize-I-wanna-bash-your-skull-in_ face on. Training his eyes on the apple-cinnamon-pie scented man the golden-eyed chef tries to ignore his employee.

In two days of absense he'd forgotten just how _gorgeous_ the object of his affections was. 

The taken, _not-single_ object of his affection.

Green eyes like a watermelon's hull shining in the summertide sun, with freckles dotting every inch of bronzed skin like the black seeds that stand stark against the fruit's pink innings, innings which must've stained his lips that luscious shade from so many years luxuriating in the sweet juices after summer days by the creek.

And all that was directed at him. _Him_.

But over Dean's corner there was the unmistakable sight of a tan trenchcoat. Draped over the chair of Dean's tall, black-haired, no doubt well-muscled and well-endowed _date_.

He couldn't catch a break.

So yeah, Gabriel stands uncertainly for a few seconds, eyes darting everywhere and trying really hard not to focus on Dean's face again, to get sucked in and hypnotized by his glory, and to go into this objectively; 

 

_ The List of Why I Shouldn't Be Angry or Hurt at Dean Winchester _

 

_ 1\. They were never a thing.  _

_ 2\. Dean never explicitly stating he was interested in me in that way.  _

_ 3\. It's my own fault for getting my own hopes up, not Dean's. No, Dean was in the right.  _

_ 4\. He wanted to be friends. We could be friends.  _

_ 5\. Being friends with a god comes with its own perks.  _

_ 6\. I just won't be kissing those blush lips . . . or feeling those strong arms wrap around me, or experience those strong thighs thrust his pelvis – hung thick and solid – impaling me so it feels like he's splitting me open and so amazingly deep I can feel the swollen head in my  _ stomach _never, stilling till he's going taut and filling me up with his sticky sweet ––––_

 

_ Cronuts! _

Gabriel's around the counter and in the café proper now, there's no longer time to run away, but there's nothing he wants more than to run. To never be introduced to the man who gets to have the beautiful Dean Winchester in his bed and feel those amazing arms around him and whether he be filled or fill-up he'll be happy because gods, that feeling is still there when he looks at Dean. That shivery happiness that's been inside him since he first bumped into him on the street, that makes you feel like you'll die of ecstasy when you've tasted ambrosia.  _That_ feeling.

(When did he start following Dean to his table?)

And  _that_ man, not him, gets to keep that feeling, doesn't have to throw it away like he now has to.

(When did he get to be less than a foot from  _The Date_ ?)

((When did he start calling him  _The Date_ ?))

No sir-ee, he gets to bottle it up and keep it in his pocket.

(When did he take The Date's hand to shake?)

And Dean probably gets that same feeling when looking at that man.

(When did he look into  _dazzling_ eyes whose only comparison would be blue tourmaline?)

Meanwhile, _no one_ gets that feeling while looking at him.

( _When did he start to feel like a lamb in a den of wolves?!_ )

And  _that man_ is now looking at  _him_ . At  _Gabriel_ . . . with the predatory look of a lioness about to strike, or Gabriel when he sets eyes on a new delicacy he's never tasted before and just  _has to have it_ .

It's that kind of look, and it  _t h r i l l s_ him.

 

 


	15. Fifteen Sprinkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's probably a lot wrong with this. sorry. :(

“Hello, _G a b r i e ~ l_ , I'm Castiel.” Gabriel's name falling from Castiel's lips is like a caress, the blue-eyed man's gravel, gruff voice downright _sin_ ful.

Gabriel is going to die, he's sure of it.

Combust into a burnt scone that'll have to be thrown away.

He really doesn't want to burn. He wants to be eaten and savored and bathed in green and blue frosting so delicious he could cry.

Imagine the _taste_ of that . . . He's doomed.

 

 

~ Sacrifice the Fire King! ~

 

 

It is really hard not to bend Gabriel over the arm rest and roast him between his and his husband's fun sticks.

Castiel isn't even sure which sight he wants to see more; the little golden-eyed imp's lips stretched obscenely around _his_ wand as he _destroys_ that mouth or watch those lips do the same task on Dean while Castiel thrusts brutally into that no doubt tiny hole, feel it greedily clenching around him and watch himself be devoured again and again till his sticky wet overflows from whichever orifice he ended up in.

God but there's _that glint_ of defiance and fight that says he won't bottom so easily, oh no, he'll fight to top. At least once. There's no hint to say that the long-haired chef _isn't_ attracted to the married couple, both parties, but there _is_ disappointment and anger at having seen Dean enter with another man, along with insultion for being introduced to said man.

Castiel can understand that.

He'd felt the same way with Sam before being reassured by Dean that they were just brothers.

Cas was gonna just explain to the beauty what the situation was, he really, truly was, but after seeing the annoyance in those gold eyes he decides that teasing him will be more fun.

_S o o o_ , the second he sits down beside him, Cas puts his hand just above his knee, on his thigh, letting a lecherous smile grace his lips as he openly surveys his prey, eyes trailing up and down till he's satisfied with what he sees and meets blue eyes with gold, smile widening at Gabriel's wide-confused eyes and agape mouth.

And yeah, there is so much Cas wants to do with that mouth, but with a glance at Dean, seeing the green-eyed man's knowing smirk, he decides he needs to reign it in.

This is about adding a third to their sex-life – and maybe (hopefully) a new friend in their daily lives. Though not a permanent third-party to their marriage. 

Cas can be patient . . . He'll just have to pound Dean's brains out daily in the meantime. (although how that differs from their current sex-life, he doesn't know.)

 

 

~ Now! Sacrifice the Non-Virgin! ~

 

 

_ What the . . . twix!! Why does  _ The Date _have to be godly too!!! Don't us mortals ever have a chance?!_

_The Date_ , C a s t i e l, is eyeing Gabriel up like . . . like . . . like he's cheesecake!

Not that he isn't doing the same, _but s t i l l_!

And when he glares at the green-eyed god he swears that his eyes too are sizing him up like he can't wait to take a bite out of him.

Gabriel glances back to the counter and instead of finding Samandriel there alone he finds Inias directly at the small blond twink's side.

Okay, weird, Inias is supposed to be off for the day.

He doesn't dwell on the thought, only sends them a distressed glance and mouths “help me”.

The young couple don't even glance at each other, some telepathic conversation or instinct saying “Samandriel, stay. Inias, go and save Bossman from sure destruction.”

Yeah, that's exactly what happens, totally, because now Inias is walking towards them and Gabriel's face lights up like fireworks at his savior, as opposed to how it lights up with the slow heat of lanterns in the moonlight when the two gods beside him light the flapjack fire within him.

Yet when Inias reaches their sides with a _. . . is that a coffee pot?_ in his hand, all he does is bend at the waist and refill the coffee Dean'd grabbed for he and Cas, both black. 

“On the house.” The little snickers says after he's done pouring and sends a fleeting glance to Gabriel as he backs away, a smirk gracing his face just when it's out of sight of their guests.

Gabriel sees the expression though and throws out his legs just shy of being able to trip his employee, seething in whispered confectionaries about tartly employees who need a kick in the buns.

_Thanks for all your help, Twinky._

When Inias reaches Samandriel's side the younger is giving him an “Are you frostin' me?” look of amusement, an expression which Inias sickly sweetly tries in vain to kiss away.

Bossman wants to puke.

So he turns away with a gag and runs _smack!_ back into the predatory graces of the green and blue gods. 


	16. Sixteen Candles

So . . .

Gabriel was impressive.

Gabriel gushed about Italy and France but no matter how hard he nettled he didn't budge on his hometown or even homestate (but he acquiesced to tell the married pair that he was indeed American by birth).

The raven man would have to bite it out of him somewhere down the road, but it's not like he's very forthcoming about his familial past, either. Took him a few dates before he really told Dean the nitty-gritty of his childhood, and vice-versa.

They were both master's of secrecy.

Doesn't mean they like it when _others_ have secrets.

After a few minutes of awkward interaction Gabriel had loosened up, and although he was still a bit cold to Castiel, he could respect and understand the underlying hostility there; both aimed toward him and inwards towards the mousey-haired man himself.

That last part didn't make him very happy, though, but he'd rectify that later.

Right now it was fun listening to Gabriel describe in great detail this horrific breakfast he'd once dished out for his maitre d'.

“ – even though they have April Fools day in England, Balthy doesn't have any siblings and so had never had the full effect of the holiday ( – don't look at me like that, it's a frappuccino holiday and you know it). So, being roommates, I was usually the one making breakfast and he was the one who cleaned up. See, Balthy's favorite baked fruit is quince. And if you haven't had it you really should because it's like _a happy party in your frosted flakes mouth_! Anyway, on _this_ day I got up splendidly early and got a lovely basket of yellow apples, instead of his preferred quince, gathered cayenne pepper, allspice, and a bit of wasabi, then simmered them in a mixture of tomato and lemon juice.”

With every word Dean's face becomes more and more terrified and truthfully Cas thinks that he should keep Gabe around just for the probability of a horrific pie incident and more stories like this that may forever traumatize Dean.

Oh the possibilities.

“So he came in while I was eating and I'd caplopped this onto his stack of pancakes. I'd saved a serving of the regular quince from the morning before and had hidden it till the time was right. Balthy sat down all jovial and happy and went to dig in to his food. The second he chewed that monstrosity he gagged and spit it out all over the floor. The spit quickly turned green and heaving ensued but I was too busy laughing and gagging myself to really notice.”

The silence is palpable.

“Oh, and the pancakes I made him were raddish-flavored.”

“You are diabolical.” Dean breathes, awed terror in the sound.

“I try.”

Oh yeah, Castiel needed to keep this one.

Although, the thought of a Prank War involving Gabriel in cahoots with one or pitted against any of the Winchester brothers? May God have mercy on any soul who gets in the way.

 

 

~ My Anaconda don't want none ~

 

 

So . . .

Castiel wasn't _that_ bad.

The way he sat was like he had a stick up his dohnut hole, and his face was pinched and his trenchcoat was . . . odd.

But Gabriel started to relax with him.

Begrudgingly.

Because he still felt like an idiot.

He still felt cheated.

And he still thought Dean and Castiel were hot like Mexican candy.

 

 

~ Unless you got buns, hun ~

 

 

So . . .

Dean was hot and bothered.

Watching Cas practically devour the small chef with his eyes, seeing that impressed glint in his eye and a devilish smirk on his husband's lips as Gabriel retells his – frankly apalling – story of food terrorism, was. Hot. As. Fuck.

Yeah he really needed to fuck and be fucked.

By both of them.

At once.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is now on Hiatus until further notice. (Will be updated sporadically whenever I find the time and inspiration :3)
> 
> Also, apparently this chapter has been sitting in Draft-Mode for like a month.


	17. Seventeen Sprinkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooooo apparently this was already written; that said, ive gotten an outline for the next chapter done. :3

Castiel turns to Dean the second they slide into Baby, pinning him with bright, excited blue eyes.

“We need him.” Conviction makes his voice for once clear of gravel, a smooth road that Dean knows he likes but feels conflicted about riding.

But fuck yes, did they need him.

Gabriel was gonna be in their bed. Soon.

Or maybe in their back seat, who knows.

 

 

~ Slow your roll, Hotstuff ~

 

 

Sugar-coated god of justice have mercy on Gabriel's soul. If his crush on Dean wasn't . . . well, _crushing_ enough, then his infatuation on Castiel _and_ Dean was backbreaking.

Good glucose, the second Castiel's hand landed on his thigh and he looked into those eyes he was a goner because _holy halloween_ if he wasn't absolutely sure that the raven was an unhinging _Dom_ then shoot him now. He'd _sung_ with power and certainty and the chef could swear he smelt like thunderstorms and strength. Dean was a switch hitter, no doubt, but Gabriel had a hard time believing that Castiel was ever topped a day in his life, and if he ever was a bottom, he'd be a power. Topping from the bottom without a doubt.

Gabriel may be a bratty, noisy, raucous little sugarsnap, but he loved to be pounded hard into the bed, _loved_ to be pinned and plowed.

A sudden imagining of being entered by Dean at the same time that Castiel thrust hard into the green-eyed man, richochetting into the brunet, engulfed his thoughts.

A squeak escapes him, cheeks blushing violently as he realizes that A. he's in public with a valiantly twitching jolly rancher and B. he's still staring at the café entrance where the couple had walked out about 10 minutes before.

“Kettlecorn,” He mutters as he stands, shuffling and keeping his head lowered in an embarassed, not-Gabriel sort of way till he rounds the counter and shuffles fast into the back where he collapses against the wall with an unceremonious _unmphf!_ and a groan. Head in hands, Gabriel hopes that Inias and Samandriel won't rat him out to the others.

_Doubt it._

 

 

~ Turn down for what ~

 

 


	18. NOT A CHAPTER

Okay so Im not sure if any of you read my other story Feet of Lead, Wings of Tin (Sequel to Humble of Earth, Noble of Stars) but earlier this month I informed those readers that my laptop broke (it happened around the 14th). I got it fixed this morning and am working on stories now, but I wanted to tell everyone that I had had EVERY INTENTION of updating again before the New Year but the universe didn't want me to apparently. I will be updating this story hopefully next week, tho: HOPEFULLY! :D


	19. Eighteen Sprinkles

_Dear Diary,_

 

_Dean winchester's pants ride_ low _. Which is a sin at the best of times but when he's just in his jeans and black tee and sitting in his (MY) favorite chair and he stretches like a candied cat and that shirt_ lifts up _and those jeans_ pull down _to show off tanned skin and thick happy trail and freckles galore all I wanna do is drizzle honey on that delicacy and lick every last drop from every last dip in those hips IT IS HEART ATTACK INDUCING_

_\- Candy Convict_

 

 

* * *

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_Castiel is the enemy_

 

_He's got these sultry bedroom eyes that just_ pull me in _and make me want to melt and then he turns those eyes on Dean and there's no doubt in my mind that he's thinking about or_ remembering _taking him apart PIECE BY PIECE._

_\- Candy Convict_

 

* * *

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_I knew we had an audience but Hael made it PAINFULLY obvious today when she sat down a slice of apple pie in front of Dean and a slice of blueberry crumble in front of Castiel and then just SMIRKED AND WALKED AWAY I mean HELLO RUDE_

_\- Candy Convict_

 

* * *

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_I think Balthazar's been reading you_

_\- Candy Convict_

 

* * *

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_I'm still very confused about Castiel_

_\- Candy Convict_

* * *

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_Castiel is brusque but he looks at me like I look at tootsie-pops and I think he wants to lick me up and gods I wanna see how many licks it would take to get to his center._

_\- Candy Convict_

 

_P.S. I'm terribly sorry for the bad pun_

 

_P.P.S. I think if I ever get the chance to meet it I'll totally call his lollipop Mr. Owl._

 

_P.P.P.S. And talk to it._

 

_P.P.P.P.S. And lick it_ all up _._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short. I'm sorry and I'll do better next time.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was started because of a stupid joke my coworker made one morning at work.
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://pinupcastiel.tumblr.com/) :)


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